


Prose and Cons: A study of Writer's Block

by Legionnaire24601



Category: Kim Possible (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Kim Possible - Freeform, Ron Stoppable - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-17 20:49:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18106196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Legionnaire24601/pseuds/Legionnaire24601
Summary: "I’m assigning you to someone else.”Miss. Go looked from Lurman’s manuscript, to the pen in her hand and back to him.“Who?” she asked skeptically.“Drew Lipsky.”Shea blinked for the minute trying to place the name before she realized who they were talking about.Aw come on!





	Prose and Cons: A study of Writer's Block

**Author's Note:**

> For Benjimator, a good friend.

_ Kim panted as she ran down the dark corridors of the Lorwardian ship. Her breath plumed blue in front of her in the flickering lights. A chill slithered up her spine for the temperature was falling rapidly and she realized, to her horror, that the ships life support system had been destroyed or purposely shut off. She had to get off this ship. Kim rounded the corner and skidded to a halt. Heart pounding brutally against her chest.  Lt. Possible gave a sharp inhale. _

_ There standing in the dark, briefly illuminated by death spasms of the failing lights stood… _

_ There stood… _

_ There stood… _

 

There stood…who?

Nothing. No one. No one came to mind. The shadowed figure remained a blank fixture in his mind's eye. As indescribable as it had been for the last few years. 

 

“Shit,” Drew Lipsky  gave a frustrated sigh and frowned at the blinking text cursor of the word document. It was mocking him, had been mocking him for the last two? or was it three? years. 

 

_ “It’s been eight years.”  _ Kim supplied helpfully from somewhere in the back of his mind. _ “Going on to nine now.” _

 

“Thank you,” Drew muttered sarcastically under his breath and angrily slammed his laptop shut. Why was it that in his head his characters wouldn’t shut up? But when he tried to get them to act on paper they were as silent as the grave?

 

_ Just crazy I guess. _

 

“Shut up.” Lipsky growled running his hand roughly through his hair and rising from his desk.  The late afternoon sun filtered the window, tinting the objects in his studio a light gold. The lovely color only served to darken his mood. Grumbling to himself Drew paced aimlessly throughout his apartment forcing himself to stretch his legs. 

 

seven years? 

 

_ Eight. _

 

Drew shook his head, trying dislodge Lt. Possible’s judgemental tone from his thoughts. Had it really been eight years since he’d last had published something? This sort of thing used to be easy. In the beginning, the ideas and the stories had come and flowed easily. But very few people had been interested in reading them. Then the idea for what eventually would become  _ Mists of Solaris _ drifted through his consciousness.

 

At first _Solaris_ had started as a nagging piece of imagery that refused to leave. Then Lt. Kim Possible had wandered in, half formed but already demonstrating a multitude of talents that were only tempered by inexperience and the fact that the galaxy had not yet taken the time to properly knock her down. Then she had started talking and, frustratingly, hadn’t stopped talking since. After avoiding the inevitable for about a month Drew finally sat down and wrote… and wrote… and wrote. _Solaris_ was completed in under a year, record time for him and after twenty or so rejection letters, it was, to his surprise, picked up by J.Hench Publishing Company. 

 

 _Mists of Solaris_ had been a hit and Drew Lipsky had been riding high for a while. People wanted a sequel.  But with the success came the difficulties. Descriptions of alien worlds soon became cliche, Possible refused to move on past realizing the ship’s life support was ended and she laughed at his attempts to get her to move forward. His editor Hank Perkins took on more promising projects and only contacted Lipsky to scold him, and soon Drew hit a block. No, not hit, more like, smashed head first into a concrete barricade. The initial excitement the public had dwindled over time. And now on the rare occasions that Drew went ahead and researched his own name, the first three things that came up were, _Mists of Solaris,_ _One Hit Wonders that No one remembers,_ and _Ten famous Authors that don’t actually write._

 

“Aaaarrrrghhhhhh!.” Screamed the goat ringtone from his phone, vibrating violently from his desk, drawing Drew back from his thoughts. He stopped pacing and turned, frowning. Hank Perkins had sent him another text.

Wonder why?

 

_ You missed a deadline.  _

 

Only by three months.

 

_ Not to mention the last three deadlines you missed. _

 

He could see Possible smirk in the pale blue light of the  darkened Lorwardian corridor. 

 

_ That makes eight years, going on … _

 

“Nine.” Drew groaned out loud, Perkins was always sending him an email or a text. But whenever Lipsky tried to set up a meeting or even a call Perkins frustratingly refuse.

Stomping back over to the desk and picked up the phone. He stared dumbfounded at the message. It was short for one thing. Hank Perkins was usually talkative, far too talkative. His suggestions often turning into unhelpful tangents that had Drew focusing on  minute, trivial details instead of actually dealing with the bigger picture. Hank Perkins often liked sending messages that were so long they would be better suited for emails. Today however he was more direct. Brief and direct. Hank Perkins simply wrote.

 

“I quit.”

* * *

 

  
Hench Convention Center stood tall and proud against the edge of Go City’s skyline. A great high rise tower of shining steel and bright windows. The Hench Publishing Co lay on the fiftieth floor on the west side of the building and had a brilliant view of the rest of the city below. Or at least Shea Go assumed the view was brilliant. The only view she had from her office was the magnificent back of Vic LeChamps aging, balding head through the office door. Although right now she’d prefer Vic’s greying crown over the ridiculously expensive black Brioni suit that Malakai MacUmber liked to wear. His hazel, almost gold, eyes bore into her  uncomfortably as he leaned, arms crossed across his chest, against the door frame.

 

“You really had to slap Lurman across the face with his own manuscript?”

 

“Mal, If you had to read  _ Lucretive Frugal tips and other cost-effective habits _ for the fifth time only to realize, that, once again he ignored your edits and suggestions.” Shea waved her hand through the empty air in front of her, “ You’d have slapped him too.”

 

“Sure Shea,” MacUmber’s smile did not reach his eyes and he uncrossed his arms to brush back his dark auburn hair with a pale hand. “Doesn’t change the fact that HR is having a nervous breakdown over whether or not he’s gonna sue.”

 

_ Should have been hit him twice when you had the opportunity.  _ Shea thought to herself. Out loud she scoffed.

 

“He doesn’t ‘have enough money to cover his bases in case of a failed venture,’” and she tapped the manuscript in question with her finger, “Chapter Six.”

 

“Still, the higher ups have decided that you’ll have to play nice for a while.”

 

Biting back her annoyance Go rolled her eyes. Grabbing her red pen from it’s station she angrily crossed out  _ Lucretive  _ on the title and scrawled over the top of it,  _ Lucrative, _ followed by,  _ Idiot. _

 

“I take it they left you to decide what that entails.” She didn’t bother to look up at MacUmber when he stepped into her office.

 

“Yes, so I’ve been thinking--” 

 

“--How nice for you.”

 

Mal cocked his head to the side in a manner that reminded Shea of a crow eyeing something shiny but his eyes had iced over. 

 

“Careful,” Malakai said coldly, “I like you but be careful.”

 

_ What am I a new hire?  _ Shea leaned back and stared right back. “Really? Gonna try that with me?”

 

Mal gave her a brief, tight smile.

 

“Worth a shot,” He shrugged and inhaled sharply, “Against HR’s suggestion, I’m assigning you to someone else.”

Miss. Go looked from Lurman’s manuscript, to the pen in her hand and back to him. 

“Who?” she asked skeptically.

 

“Drew Lipsky.”

Shea blinked for the minute trying to place the name before she realized who they were talking about.

_ Aw come on! _

 

She slammed the pen on her desk, “Ugh that one hit nerd linger? Are you kidding me?” 

 

“Shea.”

 

“No.”

 

“Shea.”

 

“No.No.” Shea launched herself from her chair and slammed her hands against the top of her desk. The force of which caused her pen to roll off the edge.

 

“Hank Perkins quit for a reason.”

 

Malakai did nothing but continue to watch her bored.

“I hate Science fiction.”   
  


Reaching down to pick up her pen Malakai’s hazel eyes flew up to her face and narrowed. “Not this again.” 

 

Go glared and leaned forward. “Sci-Fi is nothing but Technobabble, and lousy physics.  It’s boring, pretentious, repetitive and...and...” Shea angrily blinked up at the ceiling. She was running out of adjectives. “I hate Sci-fi... get someone who actually likes the genre.”

 

“Shea,” MacUmber said, gently interrupting her. He rose forward and pointed to his own pale, emotionless, face, “Do I look like I care?” 

 

She flipped him the bird and Malakai smirked. Humming to himself he placed her pen on her desk before adjusting the lapels of his ridiculously expensive suit. 

 

“I quit.”

 

“Cute. I don’t care how you do it, Miss. Go. Just get Lipsky to finish on time.”

**Author's Note:**

> Credit for the idea of this story goes to Selkie de Suzie, who was generous enough to let me fiddle around with their headcanon.


End file.
